…she’s there – in some form,
up on the high deck of a bus I never saw
til now the Redness how intense the flavour
of it is,
between the jasmine and the flower;
shade, white shadow waive wave
air-thin nothingness, the spider
strings of Shostakovich –
climb my walls!
course the cracks of heavenly ceilings,
I’m in! too s-low …
to get the door.